


diffuse and light-reflective

by wave_of_sorrow



Category: Actor RPF, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dry Humping, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wave_of_sorrow/pseuds/wave_of_sorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Graham can't quite figure out where he stands with Richard and Ian has to save the day, and anything important only ever seems to happen during lunch breaks and in trailers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	diffuse and light-reflective

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5453633) prompt at the kink meme.

_The visibility of objects is primarily caused by diffuse reflection of light: it is diffusely scattered light that forms the image of the object in the observer’s eye._

The first time they meet is the day before boot camp starts, when most of them are still jetlagged and a little out of their depth, and it’s entirely unremarkable.

“Hi,” Richard says quietly, and offers Graham a timid, short-lived smile and his outstretched hand.

“Hi,” Graham echoes, and Richard’s grip is firm but noticeably brief. “Nice to meet you.”

Richard ducks his head like he’s embarrassed about something, and glances up at Graham to say, “You too.”

They separate to continue making their rounds and exchange names that they’ll have trouble remembering for the next week or so, and that’s that.

*

“Is that seat taken?” Richard asks, precariously balancing his lunch on one hand as he points at the chair next to Graham.

“Yeah, no, go ahead,” Graham says, grabbing the jacket he tossed there earlier and putting it on the back of his own chair, and Richard smiles his thanks.

They’re in the massive hall that serves as something of a cafeteria and aside from a few straggling crewmembers they’re alone, and they eat in silence. It’s the last week of training before shooting’s due to start and the studio is enveloped in nervous excitement and stress, and Richard is no exception. With anyone else he’d make a joke to diffuse the tension, but Richard doesn’t take kindly to his worries being made fun of, even if it’s done for his benefit.

When they first met he was always on edge, speaking rarely and cautiously, and Graham realised very early on that any attempt to knock Richard’s walls down backfires into making him withdraw even further. He’s been operating under the assumption that in time, when he’s ready, Richard will stop holding himself back and let someone in of his own accord.

It’s been over a month, though, and he’s still quiet around all of them and careful in everything he does, and Graham is starting to think that maybe that has nothing to do with him or anyone else; maybe that’s just how Richard _is._

“What’ve you got lined up today?” Richard asks when he’s done eating, and Graham is momentarily surprised that he’s initiating conversation.

“Costume fitting,” he says, and Richard grimaces in sympathy. “You?”

“Nothing,” Richard says, and nudges the remnants of his food with his fork. “I’m off until tomorrow morning.”

“Lucky bastard,” Graham grumbles good-naturedly and lightly punches Richard in the shoulder, then something occurs to him. “What are you still here for, then?”

Richard shrugs and avoids his eye, then sighs and looks up. “Free food,” he says, and the way he voices it almost makes it sound like a question. “Anyway,” he goes on, already getting up, “I’ll let you get on then. See you tomorrow.”

“Right,” Graham says, and doesn’t really know what to make of it.

*

Filming means long hours and short breaks, and lots of annoying stretches of time when there’s nothing to do except sit around and wait to be needed in front of the camera. It’s somewhat bearable when they’re in the studio and have their trailers to retire to, but on location, when there’s only a few haphazardly put up tents and camping chairs to keep them company, it gets pretty boring.

There’s a healthy amount of chatter going on, while some of them take the opportunity to catnap and others play card games to kill time, and Richard and Graham are sitting in companionable silence. That’s how it’s been between them for the past couple of months: shared lunches and occasional soft-spoken conversations about their characters and Middle-earth, followed by long, long minutes of not saying anything at all.

Being around Richard is effortless and comfortable, as long as you know not to make him feel embarrassed or nervous, which is something Graham’s still working on.

“What?” Richard asks, shifting in his seat, and Graham realises he’s been staring.

“Nothing,” he says and shakes his head, and it isn’t really a lie. “Just zoned out for a second.”

Richard frowns like he’s not quite convinced, but he doesn’t say anything else and it’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking at the best of times; with his features hidden under the layers of latex and makeup that constitute Thorin’s face, it’s almost impossible.

That’s the crux of the matter, really: that Graham has no idea what’s going on inside Richard’s head.

When they talk they talk about easy, inconsequential things or work, and the only time Richard ever seems to open up and offer a bit of truth about himself is when he’s discussing the character he’s playing and the story they’re telling. He seems to find it difficult to just _say_ things and prefers to reveal his thoughts in metaphors and by spinning tales, and that’s just one more thing Graham knows about Richard and doesn’t have a clue what to do with.

He’s hit in the side of the head by an orange, and he looks up to find James grinning at him. “Stop daydreaming, they’re ready for us on set.”

“About fucking time as well,” Martin’s saying, and it makes Richard chuckle in something Graham suspects might be discomfort or nervousness.

Filming, most of all, doesn’t give him very much time to overanalyse his co-star, which is quite probably for the best.

*

Graham opens the door barefoot and in the first pair of trousers he managed to grab, and he finds Richard standing outside his trailer and looking startled by his partial nudity.

“Uh,” he says vaguely, and he stretches the syllable until it sounds obscene. “I can come back later if now isn’t a good time.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Graham says, pulls his shirt on and tugs it down to cover his bare stomach, and Richard’s eyes track the movement. “Did you want to come in?”

Richard twitches and looks away, and he clears his throat and nods. “Yes, please.”

Graham has to suppress a smile at the unnecessary politeness brought on by Richard’s discomfort, and steps aside to let him in. “So,” he says, fishing a pair of clean socks out of his gym bag, “what’s up?”

Richard shrugs, standing awkwardly in the middle of the small space and showing no inclination to move.

Graham abandons his socks in favour of closing the distance between them and asking, “Is everything okay?”

Richard’s got his head turned to the side, so it’s difficult to tell whether his frown indicates worry, exhaustion, thinking, a simple headache or a combination of the four. When he looks at Graham, though, he’s smiling in that soft, shy way he has, like he’ll sometimes do when he’s praised or told nice things about himself.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go for a drink,” he says quietly, pronouncing the words slowly and carefully and like he’s worried about Graham’s reaction.

“What, tonight?” he asks, and Richard looks away again, head lowered and hands stuck into his pockets.

“I know it’s a bit short notice,” he says, and there’s a spot, just below and a little behind his ear, where a bit of glue that makeup forgot to remove sticks to his skin.

“No, that’s fine, I’d love to. Hold on, you’ve got a bit of makeup left there,” Graham says, and without thinking takes ahold of Richard’s jaw to make him tilt his head further into the light. He licks his own thumb and then uses it to rub the glue off, and Richard tenses impossibly, his breath coming fast and shallow.

Graham lets go of him and wants to apologise but thinks that would only embarrass him more, and redness spreads from the tops of Richard’s ears down his throat. It’s horribly endearing and Richard doesn’t seem to know where to look, and Graham wants to kiss him.

“I’ll ask the others, shall I?” he says, and claps Richard on the back because it’s a safe sort of thing to do.

Richard briefly meets his eye, looking confused or maybe surprised, and then he’s saying, “Great, sounds good.”

He’s out the door before Graham has a chance to say anything, ears still red, but he’s right there along with the rest of the cast as they go to what is fast becoming their favourite pub and then end up at Jed’s house as they so often do.

If he’s quiet it’s no more than usual and if his laughter doesn’t reach his eyes it’s probably the long day they’ve had, and Graham still can’t shake the feeling that he’s made Richard sad somehow.

*

It’s a few weeks later and they’re in Graham’s trailer again, sitting across from each other at the small table without touching.

“Martin warned me about the fangirls today,” Richard says, rolling a half empty can of diet coke between his palms.

“Yeah?” Graham says, and he wonders if that’s why Richard is here tonight. “What did he say?”

“Apparently,” he says slowly, eyebrows raised and crinkling his forehead, “a lot of the internet is dedicated to writing homoerotic stories about fictional characters.”

Graham snorts because Richard’s back to turning slightly pink at the ears, and says, “Oh, really?”

Richard nods, and his smile is embarrassed around the edges. “Yeah,” he says with a small chuckle. “From what I gather they pick two male characters who are close friends in the story and turn them into a couple in their own writing.”

Graham hums in acknowledgement, and then says, “Do you reckon they’ll do that with Thorin and Dwalin?”

Richard shrugs and is quiet for a moment, watching his hands as he twists and twists and twists the pin of his soda can until it snaps off. He looks up at Graham then, and says, “I don’t know. I never really thought about it before.”

“And now?” Graham asks, eyes following Richard’s to where his fingers trace rings of condensation on the tabletop.

Richard shrugs again and takes a deep breath, letting the air out again slowly. “I guess,” he starts, and pauses to swallow and clear his throat, “I guess I can sort of see where they might get the idea from.”

He looks up, and Graham tries to offer him an encouraging smile.

“There’s very few dwarf women, so I think we can assume dwarves on the whole are either asexual when not in love or aren’t adverse to getting it on with other dudes,” he goes on, back to watching his own, restless hands. “Thorin and Dwalin _are_ very close, and neither of them is married during the time of the Hobbit. Then again, neither are any of the others in the company aside from Gloin, so that probably isn’t much of a reason to assume their relationship is anything but platonic.”

“Dwarves don’t marry very often, though, do they?” Graham asks, mostly just because he wants Richard to keep talking.

“Dwalin does,” Richard says, and finally meets Graham’s eye. “After the Battle of the Five Armies he goes off to get married and has fifteen children or something.” They laugh about it for a second, and the humour, like so often lately, doesn’t quite reach Richard’s eyes.

“Do any of the others get married after the quest?” Graham asks, and their legs are pressed together under the table.

Richard shakes his head, and says, “No, they don’t.”

“Why do you think Dwalin does, then?”

The insides of Richard’s knees bracket Graham’s thigh, and he wants to know what would happen if he rubbed against them but not enough to actually do it.

“I don’t know,” Richard says, smiling like he’s sorry he doesn’t have an answer. “Maybe after Thorin’s gone and the Mountain reclaimed he doesn’t have a reason not to, or maybe he just hadn’t met the right woman before.”

Graham knows that this is Richard trying to say something and, not knowing how, wrapping it inside layers and layers of complicated code, but the signals he’s sending are as impossible to read as moon runes by daylight. He says, “But he never considered it while he had Thorin to be with.”

It seems to be completely the wrong thing to say, because Richard shifts in his seat and then jumps when the movement pushes one of his legs further between Graham’s. He’s turning red and stammering apologies, and the moment of convoluted almost-honesty is broken and any chance of understanding what Richard was trying to tell him gone with it.

With anyone else he’d quite probably take the risk and tangle their legs back together, or abandon any pretence and just kiss them, but with Richard he has no idea where that would get him. He knows he’s trying to say something and he thinks it could be along the lines of _hey, I kind of want to shag you,_ but he doesn’t _know_ and the prospect of fucking up their working relationship in the middle of filming is less than tempting. 

They spend the remainder of the evening chatting about safe, remote topics that neither of them particularly cares about, and Graham wishes it weren’t so bloody difficult to get a look at the big picture with Richard.

*

“How do you tell if a bloke’s into you?” Graham asks, and Aidan stops mid-chew and blinks at him a few times.

He swallows slowly and then says, “Good morning to you, too.”

Graham rolls his eyes and takes the seat across from him, and Aidan looks a little terrified by where this seems to be going. “I’m serious,” he says, cradling a cup of steaming coffee between his palms. “I need you to help me out here.”

“What? Why me?” Aidan exclaims, wide-eyed and a little offended. “How the hell should I know?”

“You’re,” Graham says and gestures vaguely, “young.” At a raised eyebrow from Aidan he shrugs helplessly, and says, “I thought young people knew about this stuff.”

“Well, I don’t,” Aidan says, and then lowers his voice when a couple of crewmembers give them odd looks. “Hate to disappoint you, mate, but I wasn’t born with a fully functional gaydar.”

“Gay- _what_ ,” Graham says, and Aidan tugs his breakfast closer to himself, looking ruffled and still a little bleary-eyed.

“Never mind. Just go and ask someone else,” he says, making shooing motions. “Go ask Ian! He’ll know what to do.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Graham says, getting up only to be stopped again.

“Hold on,” Aidan says, narrowing his eyes at Graham’s coffee. “Leave that. As compensation for the trauma I’ve just been subjected to.”

Graham rolls his eyes again and slides the full cup across the table and into Aidan’s waiting hands, and tries to take consolation in the fact that at the very least he didn’t mention Richard and drag him into all this.

*

“So, how’s Armitage in bed?” James asks apropos of nothing two days later, and Graham almost chokes on his sandwich.

“Wait, they’re fucking?” Martin asks, looking up from the latest script revisions and seeming more pissed that he didn’t know than actually interested.

“Who’s fucking?” Dean asks, taking a seat next to Aidan, who at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

“Richard and Graham, apparently,” Martin says, eyebrow twitching.

“What?” Dean twists around Aidan to look at Graham, and says, “When did that happen?”

“It _didn’t_ happen, thank you very much,” Graham says, fighting to keep his voice level and civil and not give in to the urge to hide his face. “And it also isn’t _going_ to, so I’d appreciate it if you could shut up about it.”

A vaguely assenting murmur goes around the table, and they all go back to eating their lunch.

Then Martin looks at him very seriously and says, “You should still buy lube, though. Just in case and what with all the horseback riding.”

There’s an eruption of laughter and James is shouting, “Cover Adam’s ears, Dean!”

“Alright, alright,” Graham grumbles, trying to see the humour in the situation because they don’t mean anything by it and it isn’t a big deal because it shouldn’t be.

“I can’t wait to see Richard’s face when he finds out you’ve been fucking him behind his back all this time,” Martin says, and Graham wishes the man were a little bit less of a bastard as no one seems to be able to stop laughing.

“What’s going on?” Richard asks from behind them, joining them in the tent they’re taking their break in as if on cue.

“You do not want to know,” Martin assures him, and Richard looks a little bewildered but takes a seat and starts eating without further comment.

Graham sort of expects things to deteriorate rapidly from there and silently bids the friendship he’s built with Richard goodbye, except that nothing happens.

There are no poorly disguised jokes and no crude hand gestures made when Richard isn’t looking, no pseudo-cryptic comments and no meddling questions when they catch Graham alone, and all of that is more than a little confusing and also somewhat worrying.

*

It’s another few days before Graham catches Richard alone again, and it’s in the gym’s locker room of all places. 

He’s just arrived and Richard seems to be just about to leave, wiping his face on a towel and then stopping to shake out his right hand with a wince. “All this sword-fighting is taking its toll,” he says by way of explanation, joining Graham on the bench where he’s putting on his trainers.

Graham finishes tying the laces and straightens to find Richard very close to him, all heat and sweat and bright eyes, and he puts a hand on his wrist to stop its flexing. Richard goes absolutely still, taking a deep breath and then holding it, and Graham knows that casual touching isn’t something that comes naturally to him but can’t bring himself to let go anyway.

“Stop that, you’ll only aggravate it more,” he says, and the air leaves Richard’s lungs shuddering and all at once. He rubs his thumb over the inside of Richard’s wrist, feeling the bones and tendons shift beneath the skin, and he tries not to let his surprise show when Richard relaxes and unconsciously angles his body toward Graham.

“You’d think I’d be used to handling the sword by now,” he says, and his voice is low and rumbling. “I’ve been doing wrist exercises every night, for god’s sake.”

The double entendre of his words only occurs to him when Graham huffs out a laugh, and he immediately tries to pull away.

“No, no,” he’s saying, all the tension back in his muscles. “I didn’t, I mean, uh.”

Graham fails at keeping his laughter in but doesn’t relent his grip on Richard’s wrist, and pulls him right back down when he tries to get up. “Shut up, you idiot. I know what you meant.”

Richard relents and sighs, and Graham can’t be sure whether his face is flushed from his workout or the embarrassment.

“You should keep it warm,” he says, gently tugging Richard’s hand this way and that in favour of acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation because there isn’t any reason for it to _be_ awkward. “If you don’t want to be in complete agony during the fight scenes tomorrow.”

Richard makes a sound that could be a laugh, and it’s difficult to tell whether Graham is overstepping the line here or not because Richard has a tendency to just go quiet and play dead when he wants something to stop. He does it when he’s asked something he doesn’t want to answer and when Aidan or Dean, or both, try to get him involved in a play-fight by lightly punching him but also when he’s in an unfamiliar situation, and it makes it impossible for Graham to discern between what Richard actually doesn’t want and what Richard simply isn’t used to.

“Besides,” he goes on because he just can’t help himself, and presses his thumb into the heel of Richard’s hand, “having a wank with that wrist can’t be fun.”

Richard snatches his hand back with a yelp and laughs, and that’s another thing Graham knows he falls back on when he’s uncomfortable.

The thing is that, even though he knows these things about Richard and they’ve been spending almost every day together for the better part of six months, he still doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s no wiser than he was half a year ago: he thinks they’re more than simply co-stars, all of them are, but he doesn’t know if _more_ stops at friendship or extends into something else when it comes to Richard and him.

“I’ll let you get to your training then,” Richard is saying, and Graham would wonder at how quickly he leaves if he didn’t know that Richard never uses the showers at the gym if he can help it.

*

It takes two more weeks of Richard being relaxed and skittish in turns and Graham being at a loss as what to do with him before he admits defeat and seeks help. The decision is mostly brought on by a weekend party at Stephen’s house where they all got spectacularly drunk and he ended up having to make sure Richard made it home okay, and he still doesn’t know how he managed not to kiss him at his front door when he was all alcohol-fuelled warmth and breathless laughter against the side of Graham’s neck.

“Ah,” Ian says when he opens his trailer door and lets Graham in, like he already knows what this is all about and has only been waiting for it to happen.

“I can come back another time if you’re busy,” Graham says, even as Ian gestures for him to take a seat.

“Oh, no, that’s perfectly fine,” he says, and makes them tea in the small kitchen area and doesn’t say anything else.

It gives Graham time to think about why he’s really here, so that when Ian sits down opposite him and slides one steaming cup across the tabletop he’s settled on saying, “I need advice.” 

Ian stirs sugar into his tea and says nothing, and although he radiates nothing but warmth and calm it still makes Graham shift in slight embarrassment.

“About men, that is,” he says, and Ian’s brows rise in something that might be surprise or could simply be amusement. “Well, just one man, really.”

“Is that so,” Ian says, and it sounds like more of a statement than a question. “Well, do you want me to really get into the joys of anal sex or would you prefer the crash course?”

Graham burns his tongue on the tea and swears, and Ian doesn’t even bother to try and disguise his chuckle.

“There, there,” he says, and reaches over to pat Graham’s forearm. “I didn’t mean to shock you, dear boy.”

Graham doesn’t know what to react to: the fact that Ian is apologising for apparently having no shame or that he’s just been called a boy. He shakes his head and says, “It’s less about the, uh, technicalities and more about how to actually get there. I’m not entirely sure how to go about propositioning another man.”

It makes Ian laugh for a moment, and then he says, “Well, is he gay?”

“I don’t know,” Graham says, and Ian hums and rubs his finger against his mouth.

“I see,” he says slowly, and then, “Does he seem interested?”

Graham shrugs, and focuses on his hands where the heat of the tea is turning his palms red. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think he does, but it’s difficult to tell with how shy he is.”

Ian hums again, and then says, “Well, you could always simply ask him.” Graham looks dubious and he shrugs. “Why not? If he’s just been too shy to do anything about his own attraction he’ll be glad you did, and if he’s not you’ll just have to laugh it off. Friendships can survive a bit of homoerotic tension, believe me.”

“How am I supposed to just ask him if he wants to have sex?” Graham asks, and he can feel his face get hot.

Ian laughs again, and says, “Oh, my dear boy, I wasn’t suggesting asking for a shag. Call me old-fashioned, but I was thinking more along the lines of a few drinks or perhaps dinner and a movie.”

“Oh,” Graham says, feeling immensely stupid even though Ian just seems to find the whole thing funny. “Right.”

They finish their tea in silence, embarrassed and amused respectively, and when Graham says his thanks and makes to leave Ian asks, “Is the problem really that he’s another man?” When Graham frowns in confusion he elaborates, “Isn’t the problem perhaps that Richard is your friend and you’ll continue to see him on set every day for the next year even if he doesn’t return your affections?”

“I didn’t say-“

“You didn’t have to,” Ian says gently, and even without the costume on he carries an impossible air of authority and wisdom. “He’s very fond of you, you know.”

“He is?” Graham asks before he can think better of it, and Ian looks genuinely bemused.

“Of course he is,” he says, getting up to put their empty cups in the sink. “Or at least so he’s been telling me.”

Ian stands with his back to Graham as he speaks, and when he turns around there’s something about him that suggests the conversation is over and so Graham leaves without saying anything else.

*

“You wanted to see me?” Richard says, and Graham almost bumps into him as he opens his trailer door to leave.

“I, what?” he says, switching the light back on and letting Richard in.

“Aidan told me that James told him that Adam told him that Ian told him that you wanted to see me,” he says, and falters a little towards the end, uncertainty creeping into his expression.

“Oh, right, yes,” Graham says, and silently curses his meddlesome co-stars. Richard looks at him expectantly, and he says, “I, uh, I was wondering if you’d like to get drinks or grab a bite to eat or something.”

Richard frowns, and Graham wants to cringe at how clumsy he is about all this. “Yeah, sure, why not,” he says, looking a little confused but happy enough. “I think most of the others have already left, though, but we can always ring them.”

“What?” Graham says, and then realises that he’s not made himself clear. “No, I meant would _you_ like to get a drink with me.”

Richard looks surprised, mouth moving soundlessly for a moment, and then he says, “What, like, a date?”

Graham shrugs and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, and says, “If you want to, I mean. If not, then that’s fine too.”

“No, I do,” Richard says, and his smile is soft and warm and a little timid. “I just didn’t think _you_ did.”

“What? Why not?”

“Well, you turned me down for one,” he says, and Graham doesn’t understand. “A couple of months back when I asked if you wanted to go for a drink and you said you’d ask the others, I thought that was you letting me down gently.”

“That was you asking me out?” Graham asks, and Richard ducks his head.

“Yeah,” he says, and his smile is all embarrassment now and that’s not at all how it’s supposed to be.

“Can we skip the formalities and go straight to the part where I kiss you?” Graham asks, and Richard’s turning pink again.

“Do you really need to ask?” he says, and his voice is pitched lower than Graham is used to hearing it.

“I sort of do, yeah,” he says, because he still can’t really read Richard and he needs to know that it’s okay to cross this particular line.

Richard’s throat visibly moves as he swallows, and he meets Graham’s eye when he says, “Yeah, we can skip to the kissing.”

“Good,” Graham says, and cups Richard’s face between his palms to pull him in and hold him close as he coaxes his mouth open with the tip of his tongue.

Richard’s kisses are long and slow, occasionally broken by softer, quicker ones or to draw breath, and he tastes like spearmint chewing gum and himself. His breathing is deep and heavy, and Graham groans into his mouth when arms uncertainly wrap around him.

He breaks away to mouth along Richard’s jaw and down the side of his neck, and it gets him a shaky exhale and a quiet, rumbling hum. Closing the relatively small distance between the door and the bed proves to be a stumbling, awkward affair and they’re both laughing by the time Graham pushes Richard onto the mattress.

It’s different from any other time Graham’s heard Richard laugh before, and if it’s fuelled by embarrassment then it is mutual and not entirely unwarranted and doesn’t do anything to put them off.

Richard’s thighs open of their own volition when Graham settles on top of him, and he kisses Richard again just for that. Richard enjoys being touched, he soon finds out, and he gets increasingly more vocal about it the more comfortable he feels; he likes his jaw bitten and his throat kissed, groans when his ears are licked and blown on and shudders delightfully when his nipples are pinched through his shirt.

He wants to strip Richard naked and find every spot he likes having touched and learn the sounds he makes, but as soon as he’s got his shirt pushed up to bare his chest and stomach Richard pulls him back in for a hard kiss that leaves them panting. From there it doesn’t take long until they’re grinding against each other, both hard and desperate, neither willing to slow down enough to so much as get their trousers open and pull their cocks out.

It’s uncoordinated and suitably awkward; they’re both too tall to comfortably fit on the bed and Graham has to brace his feet against the floor to get enough leverage to thrust, while Richard settles for spreading his legs and rocking his hips up in semi-coordinated counter-movement.

Their kisses are brief and messy, all tongue and teeth, and their breathing sounds harsh in the otherwise quiet trailer. Graham pulls back a little and grabs Richard’s thighs, and the change in position allows him to thrust harder and startles short, loud moans from Richard. He can’t wait to be inside Richard if this is what dry humping makes him sound like and before he really knows what’s happening Richard gasps and stiffens, and then shudders apart in his arms.

His mouth is open and his eyes are closed, and the sound he makes is drawn-out and low and goes straight to Graham’s own cock.

Richard stills and swallows hard, hips twitching weakly a few more times, and says, “Oh.”

Graham stills as well and rubs Richard’s sides as he gets his breath back, and when his eyes flutter open and the first syllables of an apology leave his mouth he leans down and kisses him silent.

“That,” he says, and slips his tongue back between Richard’s lips for good measure, “was incredible.”

Graham wants to tell him he’s gorgeous when he comes, but Richard seems embarrassed enough as it is and not saying anything is surprisingly easy when he’s pushed onto his side and hands make short work of his trousers. Richards own jeans are pulled off and tossed away with minimum fanfare, and Graham briefly wonders if he would have been more timid about it when he was still hard.

Then Richard lies facing him and presses his naked thigh against his cock, and coherent thought goes out the window.

Richard is warm and smooth, coarse hair rubbing along Graham’s shaft before it slips into the crease of thigh and hip and leaves sticky trails on already sticky skin. He kisses with more purpose now, pausing their tongue-rubbing to suck on Graham’s lower lip or gently bite down on it, and the sounds he makes are softer, more languid than before.

When he gets close Graham reaches down to squeeze the swollen head of his cock and Richard’s fingers join him, doing it first too hard and then too lightly and then just right. His orgasm is sudden and forceful and his hands twist into Richard’s shirt as he’s fisted through it, coming over both their stomachs and the space between them.

They keep kissing through the aftermath until their breathing has evened out again, and Graham is starting to suspect Richard might have a bit of a thing for kissing.

“Are you okay?” he can’t resist asking when they haven’t quite mustered the energy to move yet, even though they’ve gone from sticky and stifled to sticky and chilled by now.

Richard’s only response is a drawn-out hum and his stubbly chin rubbing against Graham’s neck.

“Is that a yes or a no? I honestly can’t tell,” Graham says, and it’s only half a joke because he _still_ doesn’t get Richard.

Richard laughs and tries to muffle it in Graham’s shoulder, and then he says, “It’s a yes. A _fuck yes,_ to be exact.”

Graham snorts and kisses the top of his head, and cuddling a man as tall as him should be completely awkward but it oddly isn’t.

They fall asleep like that, with Graham’s trousers open and his cock still hanging out and Richard in nothing but a sweaty t-shirt, and when they wake up to find their pelvic bones bruised and sore and the day mercifully work-free they simply relocate to Richard’s and initiate a repeat performance, with slight alterations.

*

There’s a lot of desperate fucking for the first while; overeager blowjobs in hastily parked cars and more desperate, clothed rutting against various front doors, bruises caused by impatience and Richard moaning into the pillow as Graham slides into him before either of them is really ready for it. They make a point not to stay up longer for sex than they otherwise would, though, and try their best to keep it secret and away from set, and it actually works for an entire week.

Richard winces when he sits down and glares at Graham, who says, “I’m really, really sorry.”

Richard sighs and pokes his lunch with his fork, and says, “I know. It’s not like it didn’t hurt while we were doing it, I should have told you to stop.”

Graham shakes his head, and insists, “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

The rest of the cast sitting at their table have gone suspiciously quiet and wide-eyed, and Martin doesn’t look up from his phone when he says, “Told you to get lube.”

Aidan spits out his drink, and the rest of them burst into laughter as Dean pats him on the back and James appears to actually be crying with mirth.

Graham meets Richard’s eye, who’s gone an interesting shade of red under the prosthetics, and their laughter is sudden and helpless and only fuelled by the others’ bemusement.

“Did they finally shag, then?” Ian asks as he joins them, and the fact that he’s still in his costume only makes the whole thing funnier.

Graham winks at Richard, who hides his face in his hands and laughs into his palms, and they refrain from explaining that the soreness is nothing more than a by-product of too many stretching exercises because it would only sound like a flimsy excuse anyway.

*

The thing about Richard, Graham’s learned, is that most of his actions are really just _re_ actions to outside factors.

He’ll laugh when he’s embarrassed and trying not to show it, and he’ll use complicated metaphors when he doesn’t know how to say something, and it’s all usually simply a reflection of those around him; like when Graham jokes and punches him in the shoulder whenever he’s out of his depth, or when he can’t put what he means into words and offers semi-casual touches instead.

Knowing that means understanding that Richard isn’t very good at initiating or stopping things most of the time, and that when it comes to sex, like with all other things, it’s never a bad idea to just _pause_ for a moment and ask for Richard’s input and explicit permission. It’s slow, meticulous going and their meddling co-stars don’t always help when things are strained between them, but it tends to work out in the end.

All in all, though, their relationship is entirely unremarkable. 

They work and sleep and fuck and spend long, long hours drawing invisible maps to each other’s hearts, and that’s that.


End file.
